The Night the Lights Went Out in Colorado
by You'veBeenJayed
Summary: The trial is over and the sentence was given. There's no turning back now, Stan did it all. And his brother took the fall for him. What exactly happened that night in South Park, Colorado, when Kyle was convicted of 2 murders? Multiple pairings and slash.
1. He Really Did Do It

**This story is based off a short passage I did in "dA Music Meme". Check it out if you want to get a short spoiler on what the story's going to be about, except it's probably going to be a lot different than that idea. It's also going to be based off the song "The Night the Lights When Out in Georgia" by Reba McEntire. Though I won't be copying the song's idea completely--I'll be adding in my own twists and stuff.**

**This story was requested by: **_**BlackHeartsxxRedSpades926.**_

–

"On the account of first degree murder, what have you found?" The judge asked, her brown eyes penetrating the jury foreman deeply. He nodded slightly while adjusting his footing—something nobody even noticed.

The man took a breath and read the paper in a loud voice that rung off the walls and echoed back into everyone's ears. "We, the Jury, find the defendant, Kyle Broflovski, _guilty_ for murder in the first degree. He shall be sentenced to death,"

Gasps were immediately wrung out along with sobs and voices of protest. But the judge would hear none of it. She slammed down her mallet. "Silence in the court! The verdict has been given. Please take Mr. Broflovski away," she said to the officers that were already putting Kyle in handcuffs. They nodded briefly to her before pulling roughly on the redhead's arm and leading him out of the courtroom.

Before Kyle was through the doors that would surely lead to his doom, he glanced back with teary green eyes. They locked on to raging pair of blue in the room, the owner of which was shaking his head furiously as tears cascaded down his cheeks like mini waterfalls. The blue-eyed boy, Stan, was reaching out for him in a desperate attempt, as if to summon him back to his side.

Before Kyle was forced to turn his head away and exit the door, Stan mouthed the words, "I'm sorry." and then he was gone. The door was shut and that was the last he would see of him, ever. Stan's fists clenched and unclenched.

He pushed his way through the dispersing crowd and up to the judge. He grabbed her shoulder to get her attention. She turned around, somewhat stunned to see Stan standing there, shaking with tears.

There, he paused, glaring at her. "Wendy," he breathed.

Wendy put her hand on Stan's shoulder and gave him a small, apologetic smile. "Stan, I know you're scared for your brother...but he did a bad thing and he deserves to be punished for it,"

Stan shook his head. He turned his head up and looked her in the eyes. "I did it," he stated simply.

Wendy frowned. "What?"

"I did it, Wendy. I killed them. All of them. Kyle didn't do any of it!" He began losing it there, pulling out his usually silky black hair—which was now dry and knotted. "Take _me_ away, instead! I'm the guilty one! _Please _just don't take Kyle!"

The black-haired judge sighed and shook her head sadly, looking to the side of Stan's face, not meeting his eyes. "Stan...you're just scared and freaking out. It'll be okay. Don't blame yourself, okay?" When it looked like he was about to protest, she held back her famous temper due to the situation and finally met his eyes. "It's all been taken care of. It's all over now."

That's when Stan paled a little. His eyes narrowed in an instant, then went wide. He stumbled backwards a little, pointing at her as if she just turned into Satan himself. His wide eyes turned into a furious glare, fire practically dancing in his pupils.

"_You_ did this! _You_ sentenced him to death! You stupid bitch! You sentenced my brother to death!"

Wendy gulped and back up a little when Stan started nearing her. "S-stan, calm down. You're being delirious. Just c-calm down."

But Stan ignored her. "You were one of them! You stupid whore! That's why you did it—isn't it!? Tell me!" He brought his fist back, fully intending to beat the everliving out of her. The security guards were on him in an instant, slamming him into the nearby desk and holding his arm painfully behind his back. Stan ignored this pain, however, and tried breaking free. He was weak and shaky and unstable, so this didn't work out too well and they dragged him away. "They won't believe me..." he whispered to himself as he was shoved outside the courtroom.

Wendy stared after him. "He really did do it..." she shook her head. _It's too late for that now, Wendy. You're too respected to be put down by that secret now._ She looked towards the door Kyle was taken through with a blank stare, before she turned away and walked through the outside doors. _It's too late for that now._

–

Stan punched the wall. He punched it over and over again until he just crumbled and cried, like a paper that had been crunched into a ball so many times, you couldn't decipher the words on it anymore.

He was alone in his dusty house. All alone. He slid down the wall, which was dented with an admirable hole, and held his head, letting the tears fall in hiccups and sobs. It felt to him as if he had been crying forever. Maybe he had been? Who could tell now. This world was too full of lies for him to know what was true and what was not, what was reality and what was imagination.

It scared him.

But there was nothing he could do about it now. The deed—_deeds_--had been done. He had gotten away with it. He stood and wiped his tears with the sleeve of his jacket.

"This is not my fault..." he assured himself. Stan walked across his blue-walled bedroom and sat down on top of his unmade bed. He never really was a tidy person. He stared at the wall with his normally shining blue eyes, now dulled to the point of no return.

Next to his bed was a very basic, short dresser. He picked up the framed picture that was sitting atop it and almost—_almost--_smiled at it. Brushing a thumb over the picture, he blinked back more tears and hugged it to his chest. "Kyle... Kyle, Kyle, Kyle," he sobbed, chanting the name so as to bring back some sort of happy memory with him. This was a failed ritual, for all it brought back were horrible memories. Memories of things he did, for Kyle. All for Kyle.

The memories began to consume the raven-haired boy in the darkness. He let out a short-lived scream and gripped his aching head, picture falling to the floor and breaking into tons of sharp little glass shards.

Once Stan realized what he had done, he instantly freaked out and got down on his hands and knees to clean the glass up. "No, oh no, oh no..." he cried. "I'm so sorry!" But even he wasn't sure who he was apologizing to.

While brushing away the glass to get to the picture of the smiling eight-year-old brothers, he ended up accidentally cutting his palm on a particularly sharp piece of glass. He instantly brought up his hand, this motion causing the blood to drip down onto the picture and cover the beaming Kyle's face. Stan cried in frustration—why couldn't anything go right for him now?!--and brought his hand to his mouth, sucking on the rustic fluid. He lifted the picture carefully and hugged it to himself sadly once more before placing it gently back onto the dresser.

Stan stood and, taking once last look at the picture of his and Kyle's oblivious eight-year-old faces, he turned and left the room, leaving the blood to dry across Kyle's childish face.

–

**Listen to the song if you want to get at least an idea as to what's going (and going to go) on! It's good.**

**By the way, in this story, everyone is in their 20's. Probably about their mid- or late-20's. And just to escape possible confusion; yes, Wendy was the judge. More ideas will come together in the next chapters.**


	2. He's Been Out Cheating

**Sorry for the wait! I would like more reviewers, however—that would nice! Anything is welcome, except for flames, of course.**

–

The streets were dark, lit dimly by streetlamps; most of which were broken or cracked from the neighborhood kid troublemakers. Rain was pattering down harshly and loudly, thunder cracking in the distance with lightning brightening the sky. Nobody was out on the streets this late at night, especially during a storm like this.

Except for one darkly dressed figure running through the rain, hood covering their head, a backpack of some sort their only cover.

The figure slows to a stop outside a building, pulling the backpack down and slipping it on their back. They open the splintering wooden door of the building before quickly slipping inside, slamming it shut after them.

As the figure strolled calmly up to the bar, it noticed that there was hardly anyone there. The usual drunks that wouldn't miss a night if their mother just died. They were always the same.

The figure took a seat at the bar, pulling off its hood. "Pour me a moonshine, will you?" he asked.

The bartender nodded without looking back from cleaning his glass. He ran a hand through his blonde hair before pouring the alcoholic substance into the glass. "Okay, here you go..." He turned around and paused, seeing the person's identity and smiling widely—the figure matching his smile with a smirk of his own. "Kyle! Why, when did you get back?"

"Hey, Butters. I just got back tonight and thought I'd stop by before I head home," He took a swig of his drink, squeezing out some of the excess water from his hat and shivering. "It's storming pretty bad out there, huh? How long is it supposed to last?"

Butters shrugged, picking up another glass to clean. "I'm not sure. The news said it's a big one, for sure."

"Weird. Storms like this are rare for around here,"

"Yeah,"

"So, how've you been, Butters?"

Butters shrugged. Something seemed a little off about him. He kept avoiding eye contact with Kyle, keeping his eyes trained on the glasses he seemed overly interested in cleaning. "You know, the usual."

They shared some more small pointless small talk that didn't go very far. It wasn't long before Kyle finished his second drink and stood up, placing his hat carefully back onto his head and adjusting his transparent rain coat. "Well, nice seeing you again, dude. But it sounds like the storm is dying down, so I better get back home," He smiled dreamily and his jade eyes softened. "Besides, it's been over a week since I last saw Kenny. I've missed him the most," A laugh. "No offense to you of course."

Butters shook his head nervously. His eyes shot up once Kyle started towards the door. "Uh, K-Kyle, wait a second..."

Kyle turned and raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

The blonde sighed, setting down the glass and cleaning cloth, leaning forward on the counter and patting the other side of it. "You better get back over here and sit down for this."

Now Kyle was interested. He slowly sat back down at the bar and looked at Butters carefully, not completely sure what to make of his expression. "Uh, what's up, Butters? I gotta get home soon to see Kenny."

"Kyle, how long would you say it's been that you and Kenny have been married?" Butters asked, his head hung and voice low.

Kyle caught none of it and acted as if all was good. He tilted his head in thought. "About...two years," He cocked his head. "Why? I didn't miss an anniversary, did I?" he chucked at this.

"N-no, it's not that..."

"Then what is it?"

"I-I...nevermind."

Kyle blinked. He stood up slowly and adjusted his raincoat again. "Alright, if you say so. I'll see you later then--"

"Kyle! Kenny isn't home, okay?"

The redhead spun to face the blonde instantly. "Why? Is something wrong? Did something happen to him?" He slammed his hands on the counter, worry lacing his features. "Please, Butters, don't tell me he's in the hospital again!"

Butters looked at Kyle with all sincere apology in his eyes. "Kyle... You know I'm your best friend right? You've been comin' here for years and I've never done you wrong and neither have you to me... But, Kenny... He's been out cheating while you've been gone with Cartman. And, well, honestly, I've been with her myself," He shook his head, putting his hand on Kyle's shoulder from across the counter. "I'm really sorry, Kyle. I don't know why...but I just couldn't help myself."

The look on Kyle's face was unreadable from the shadows that the dim lighting of the bar gave off. He shrugged Butters' hand off his shoulder. His fists clenched and unclenched as he tried to fight off his world-renown temper. After a couple of seconds that seemed to last forever, something in his head said "fuck it" and he brought back a fist, punching Butters right in the nose, possibly breaking it.

Butters fell back right on his butt, holding his bloody nose. Without waiting for him to speak, Kyle stormed out of the bar, slamming the doors shut on his way out.

The thunder practically echoed with his fury. He was seeing red. Tears were streaming down his face—impossible to see through the rain

–

**I know the chapter is short, but informational. More will occur as the chapters develop.**


End file.
